


easy as breathing

by blueandgold



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, Family, Family Fluff, Humor, Male Morgan Stark, Multi, Parent Tony Stark, Team as Family, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-20 12:56:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16137707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueandgold/pseuds/blueandgold
Summary: Parenting is the single most rewarding—and terrifying—experience Tony's ever had.





	1. fussy

Morgan Stark, at ten months, was _the_ fussiest baby in the galaxy.

At least, that was what Clint told Tony and Pepper, after watching him for the day.

“Thank you for babysitting,” Pepper said, face twisting in sympathy, while Tony protested, offended, “My baby is _not_ fussy.” He took Morgan from the Traitor™, heretofore known as Clint, and bounced his son on his hip. Morgan gurgled, happily, and Tony’s heart did that—y’know, _thing_ , (no, not the whole, “lighting up because there’s an arc reactor embedded in my chest,” thing, but it _did_ feel like something was glowing).

The Traitor™ raised an eyebrow. “I have three kids, Tony. I know a fussy baby when I see one, and your baby is fussy.”

Pepper smiled, left cheek dimpling—she was very cute, even when she was teasing him, which wasn’t fair—and pinched Tony’s cheek. “I wonder where he got that from,” but she didn’t say it like it was a question.

Tony didn’t pout, because he was a Stark and Starks didn’t pout or fuss. (They ranted and brooded and _occasionally_ had mental breakdowns that often accompanied breakthroughs—except for that one time in Cabo—but they did _not_ pout.) Still, Tony’s mouth did make a shape which could, perhaps, be mistaken for a pout by the untrained eye.

Tony hoisted Morgan up and informed Clint: “Well, the only fussy baby wesee is the one standing in front of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (against my better judgement), i've started another drabble series. (Ｔ▽Ｔ) i've always loved tony's character, and i've been meaning to write something for the mcu for awhile now, so... here goes nothing! let me know what ya'll think, and enjoy!
> 
> note: this series was started prior to endgame's release, and, thus, morgan's gender—and whether or not morgan even existed—was up for debate. so, this series features a morgan who is a boy and is different in personality from the morgan of endgame. fair warning!


	2. brother

“Oh, my God, Mr. Stark.”

“Kid—”

“Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark, _look_ at him—”

“Kid—”

“He’s so small, Mr. Stark. Oh, my God, he’s so small. What if I break him? Oh, my God, can babies break, Mr. Stark—?”

“ _Peter_.”

The kid looked up, eyes wide. He swallowed, thickly, glancing between Tony and the swaddled bundle lying in his arms. “Yes, Mr. Stark?” He asked, voice a loud whisper, (how was that even possible?).

Tony sighed, arms folded across his chest. “You look like you’re holding a bomb.” He informed. “Relax, but don’t loosen your grip,” he added, sternly, totally not parroting the advice Natasha had given him, oh, two hours ago.

Peter bit his lip and nodded, earnestly. “I swear, Mr. Stark,” he promised, in a voice that wasn’t really a stage-whisper because Peter actually meant it, “I won’t drop him.”

Tony nodded. He wanted to say something witty—i.e., normal—but, for some reason that absolutely did not have anything to do with emotions, his throat tightened when he saw Peter shift Morgan in his arms, face pinched and eyebrows furrowed he was concentrating so hard. _The kid is holding my kid,_ Tony thought, and his eyes smarted.

“Am I doing it right, Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, looking up, eyes bright and hopeful.

 _You still look like you’re holding a bomb,_ Tony wanted to say, but what came out instead was: “Yeah. You’re doing great, Pete.”


	3. finger-painting

“ _What_ did you do to my child?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “You’re being overdramatic.”

“I,” Tony declared, resting a hand against his chest, the other gripping his son’s shoulder, “am never dramatic—and _you_ — You— What did you do to my child?” He repeated, turning his head to look down at Morgan. “Son, what did she do to you?”

Morgan grinned up at him with that gap-toothed smile that made his father’s heart do somersaults. However, the effect was spoiled by how he was covered—head to _toe_ —in paint. His hair, a rat's nest of red curls, was smeared with green. “We had fun, Daddy!”

“We did finger-painting, Tony.” Natasha explained, like it was obvious.

“Really?” Tony said, with faux-surprise. “I thought he had a run-in with Jackson Pollock in the Sherwin-Williams down on 21st. Clearly, I was mistaken.”

Natasha sighed, hands resting on her hips. “You’re being overdramatic.”

“You already said that.”

“It bears repeating.” Natasha remarked, mildly.

Tony gave her a flat look. “I question how you can call _this_ ,” he gestured at Morgan, “ _finger_ -painting, when a lot more than his fingers have paint on them.”

“Aunt Natasha,” Morgan answered, looking at Tony very, very seriously, “said that it’s part of the—the ar— The arch—” His eyebrows furrowed. “The ar—”

“—artistic process.” Natasha supplied, helpfully.

Morgan nodded, quickly. “Yeah, Daddy! The artistic process.”

Tony sighed. “Son, I love you. I support your endeavors and your passion for your craft—but I cannot take you seriously when you have green paint in your hair.”

“Technically, it’s winter pine, not green.” Natasha informed.

“Your advice is not wanted.” Tony snapped. He pulled Morgan closer. “I refuse to leave him alone with you, anymore. You’ll be restricted to supervised visits.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “You’re welcome.” She turned to look at Morgan, crouching down until they were at eye-level. “I had a lot of fun today with you today, buddy.”

“I did, too!” Morgan beamed.

“We’ll have to do it, again.” Natasha nodded. She glanced at Tony, cupping a hand around her mouth and dropping her voice to a whisper, and added: “But we won’t tell Dad.” She winked, making Morgan laugh.

“Dad can _totally_ still hear you, you know.” Tony interjected. “Anyways, we gotta go, champ.” He nudged Morgan. “What do we say?”

Morgan blinked, confused, then brightened. “Thank you, Aunt Natasha!” He said, and before Tony could stop him, he wrapped his arms around her—which would’ve been _super_ cute, if he wasn’t, y’know, covered in paint.

Natasha’s face was blank with shock; Tony tried to suppress his laughter, (well, not really), and failed.

Morgan stepped back. When he saw that Natasha’s chest was now bright blue, he blinked. “Oh. Whoops. Sorry, Aunt Natasha.” He apologized, mournfully.

Natasha rallied admirably, and smiled. “It’s alright.” She glared at Tony, who _might’ve_ still been laughing, and stood up. Suddenly, a smirk slid onto her lips. “Morgan, I’m sure your mother will _love_ to hear about what you did today.”

Tony’s eyes widened, while Morgan yelled, “Yeah!”

Pepper was an a compassionate, caring, understandingwoman—however, she _also_ had a love for white furniture.

Natasha said goodbye, shutting her door, while Tony led Morgan to the car. “Alright, buddy," he started. "Here’s the plan…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> featuring an older morgan! yes, i headcanon him as a redhead. i find the idea that he takes after pepper more in looks to be too cute a prospect to resist. please let me know if you liked it!


	4. pancakes

Tony held the tray steady, walking down the hall. Morgan padded ahead, his socked feet thumping against the floorboards. They stopped at the door leading to the master bedroom. Morgan looked up at Tony, his eyes bright. “Daddy?”

“Well, let’s see.” Tony glanced at the tray where breakfast was laid out. Orange juice? Check. A stack of banana chocolate chip pancakes, slathered in maple syrup with a generous pat of butter on top? Check. Napkins? Check. And, of course—because Pepper was a romantic at heart, and Tony was a gentleman, thank you very much—a thin vase with a rose in it. “I think we’ve got it covered, champ. Open ’er up.”

Morgan grinned, reaching up to twist the doorknob, and pushed the door open.

The curtains were drawn, but—because they were sheer and white—light filtered into the room, muted and soft. Pepper was curled up in bed, her hair a streak of red poking out of the covers.

Morgan creeped up to the bed. He clambered up, crawling over to where his mother was bundled up underneath the comforters. He poked, cautiously, at the lump. Leaning in, he whispered—loudly, which defeated the purpose but was still  _adorable_ , in Tony’s opinion—“Wake up, Mommy.”

Pepper peeled the covers back. She smiled in that way Tony loved, where her eyes crinkling at the corner’s and her left cheek dimpled. “Good morning, pumpkin.” She reached over and hauled Morgan into her lap, and, before he could protest, started tickling him. Morgan shrieked with laughter.

She looked up at Tony, standing in the doorway with the tray in his hand. “What’s this?” She tucked a flyaway hair behind her ear, letting Morgan crawl away. He moved to her side, burrowing underneath the covers.

Tony walked over, bending over—cautiously, so as to not upset the tray—to kiss her on the cheek; he missed and it landed on her ear, but, oh, well, it was the thought that counted. “It’s cute of you to pretend like we don’t do this every year, and like you didn’t wake up when we started cooking.”

Pepper shrugged. “I can’t help it. I’m an early riser.”

“And yet I still love you.” Tony sighed. He set the tray in her lap. “Bon appétit, and happy Mother’s Day, babe.” He sat down on the bed’s edge, until she was sandwiched between him and Morgan.

“Oh, this looks delicious.” Pepper sighed, appraising the food.

“I added the smiley face.” Morgan informed, proudly, pointing to where the banana had been sliced to form two eyes and a mouth.

“Did you? It looks wonderful.”

“Ah, yes,” Tony said, reaching over to pluck one of the slices of banana and pop it into his mouth. “Tasty, too.”

“Tony,” Pepper laughed, swatting at his arm, while Morgan protested, “You ate one of his eyes, Daddy!”

“He still has the other one.” Tony defended.

Morgan stared down at the stack of pancakes, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. Tony worried, for a moment, that he was upset. Then, Morgan declared: “It looks like Uncle Nick.”

There was a beat of silence, before Tony burst into laughter, Pepper trying—and failing—to suppress a grin as she chided him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i couldn't resist updating. hope ya'll enjoyed it!


	5. school bus

Tony heard the front door open and shut, and set the magazine down. Pepper came in, heading towards the fridge, hair pulled up into a ponytail, skin bright with sweat and face flushed. “How was the run?” He asked, taking a sip from his coffee.

“Good.” She said, pulling the smoothie she’d saved from yesterday out and shutting the door. “Did you get Morgan to school on time?”

“Yes.” Tony sniffed, “and I’m offended at your lack of faith.”

Pepper raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, he was, like, _three_ minutes late—five, tops.”

“ _Tony_ ,” Pepper started—

“I know, I know!” He said, raising his hands up. “Honestly, though, how’s being a few minutes late gonna hurt? He’s in the second grade.”

“It’ll set a bad precedent.” Pepper frowned. “I don’t want him to think he can waltz in whenever he wants.” _Like_ _someone I know,_ was left unsaid.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, he’d get there on time if you let me—”

“No.”

Tony frowned. “But—”

“No.”

“I think—”

“Tony,” Pepper set the smoothie down on the counter with a _clink_. “You are _not_ bringing our son to school in the suit.”

Tony threw his hands up, frustrated. “But it’s so much faster! There’s no traffic. He’d get there _early_. And Morgan  _loves_ the suit,” he added.

“Yes, but it _also_ sets a bad precedent.” Pepper insisted. “And I don’t think the American public— _or_ government—would appreciate you using a multi-billion dollar weapon to make sure your seven-year-old doesn’t miss story-time.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony grumbled, “the American government can shove it right up their—”

“ _Tony_.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. Still, he couldn’t help but grumble: “It beats the school bus all to hell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the middle of the week is always crazy busy for me. (~_~メ) still, i really wanted to get this up! it's short, and there's no morgan, but i hope y'all still enjoyed it. let me know what you think! i know commenting on AO3 is less popular than reviewing on FFN, but i appreciate your thoughts, feedback, and support!


	6. tabloids

“Boss?”

“Yeah?” Tony didn’t look up from his work, hunched over his bench. He’d been on a roll since Pepper and Morgan had left for her family’s get-together in Cape Charles. Tony had declined to go—he wanted some time to work on some new designs, and Pepper’s mother _still_ didn’t like him after he’d thrown up in her lilac bushes, even though it’d been a _decade_ ago.

“You asked me to flag any and all tabloid and news reports on boss lady and the lil’ one.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. reminded.

Well, _that_ got his attention. Tony straightened, raising an eyebrow. “And?”

“A new blurb surfaced in today’s Star Weekly.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. reported.

Tony groaned. “Oh, great, _those_ vultures.” He sighed, and waved his hand. “Whatever. Bring ’em up.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. complied, a holographic screen emerging in the workshop. The third page from Star Weekly was displayed on it. The title was in boldface— _Mommy and Me: Celebs & Their Kids In Matching Outfits! _ Tony resisted the urge to stick a finger in his mouth and pretend to gag.

He scanned the page with pursed lips. _Let’s see…_ There was Katie Holmes and her daughter in pale pink blouses, Beyonce and Blue Ivy in matching teal and rose-print dresses, Amal Clooney and the twins in yellow, and—yep, Pepper and Morgan.

Pepper looked gorgeous, as always. (Tony _might’ve_ been biased, but he thought she could wear a potato sack and still look beautiful.) Her hair was swept up into a loose bun and she had on the pearl earrings he’d gotten her for their third anniversary. She was wearing a white, sleeveless blouse tucked into navy culottes with white pinstripes.

Morgan was holding her hand. His hair was still a wild, red tangle—made worse, probably, by the breeze off the sea—Tony noted, fondly. He was wearing a collared shirt and shorts, the style and color like Pepper’s.

Tony tilted his head. It was a good picture. Pepper’s face was turned down to look at Morgan, smiling; Morgan’s head was tilted up, and he was laughing, left cheek dimpling like his mother’s did when she grinned.

Tony folded his arms over his chest. “Well, they can take a good photo, I’ll give them that.” He waved his hand, the article and screen disappearing. “Friday, copy and save that picture, will you?”

“Gotcha, boss.”

“Good.” He turned back to the bench. “Oh, and alert me when it’s noon—I need to eat lunch.”

“The boss lady instructed me to remind you while she was gone.”

Tony’s lips quirked up. “Why am I not surprised?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the next one! hope ya'll enjoy. the bit about beyonce and her daughter is inspired by an actual photoshoot they did. they both looked gorgeous!


End file.
